Saturday, December 4, 2010
"Because I came to my career as an artist relatively late in life, I usually include in my bio a comment about 'becoming the artist I always was.' I've been thinking lately, though, it might be more accurate to say, 'becoming the reclusive artist that I always was.' I find making art is an intensely personal, almost revelationary, experience. The act of capturing a tree's essence on paper seems to complete the communication began when we first met, and binds us together in an intimate relationship. I know it, and it knows me. And although I welcome visitors to my studio, the presence of others does become a distraction. This 'recluse suspicion' has been building for months, and I finally accepted its confirmation while on a hunting trip with my oldest daughter's husband and my youngest daughter's boyfriend. At a secluded cabin in northern New Hampshire, the young bucks set off each morning to track their trophies. I, too, set off with gun and ammo-- but more in case something stumbled across my path than the reverse. For more importantly, I carried my camera, sketch pad, and pencil, and my real hunt was for trees who wanted their stories told. The stillness of that area was beyond description and the hours spent there filled my soul in a way that chatter never has. One tree in particular called out to me, and I'm eager to continue our conversation-- and what better time than winter in Vermont to practice being a reclusive artist!"